


Don't Say It

by kathkin



Series: Merlin Mpreg [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Pregnancy, Surgery, generally icky stuff concerning pregnancy and childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-04
Updated: 2009-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur gets pregnant. Angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://heriros.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://heriros.livejournal.com/)**heriros**  for beta'ing and bestowing a name upon this. The rest comes in two parts:  
> 1\. I'm also going to mention [](http://ifyouweremine.livejournal.com/profile)[**ifyouweremine**](http://ifyouweremine.livejournal.com/), cause... when I read both back I noticed a few very vague similarities (mostly in terms of phrasing) between this fic and the [Baby Momma fic](http://ifyouweremine.livejournal.com/139767.html). I didn't do it on purpose, and I doubt anyone else would notice, but... yeah. >_<  
>  2\. I really don't like MPreg... not because it squicks me but because I don't like the way it's handled. There's usually a little bit of 'OMG a pregnant man!' at the begining, but then it's treated like a normal pregnancy. Also, despite the fact that a lot of people are _extremely_ squicked out my MPreg, it's odd that people tend not to be in fic... anyway. My response to this was to attempt to write an MPreg fic in which that doesn't happen. >_<
> 
> ETA July 2013: So there's a lot of things in this fic I'd do differently if I was writing it now, and a lot that in retrospect I find outright skeevy and uncomfortable. There's some weird consent issues and some weird stuff to do with parenthood/motherhood that I wish I'd handled better but I don't have the time or energy to rewrite it, so. It's not a nice fic. You have been warned.

Merlin wasn’t sure what exactly the point of the curse was.  
 

He knew exactly what it did, of course, but he wasn’t sure _why._ He thought later that the woman who’d done it must have sat down and worked out what the worst thing she could do to Arthur was, and how it could be made to happen (she’d lived in the palace for a few months, that must have been how she’d known it would work). But _why?_ It didn’t stop people from being executed for magic. The King never even heard of it, not really.  
 

There was really no point to it, no point to getting a job as a maidservant in Camelot, and watching the prince, and _waiting_ , and then-  
  
 

*  
 

There was no warning. The woman just suddenly turned and lashed out at Arthur, in the middle of a feast to celebrate the arrival of Lord someone-or-other and his new wife, a wave of cracking green energy that washed over him, knocking him to the ground, and a string of strange words that Merlin didn’t understand.  
 

Well, no- he didn’t understand the meaning, but he understood that it was black magic, something so unnatural and wrong that it made him feel slightly sick. That was all he could think about as he rushed towards the fallen Prince, while the woman, laughing now, was seized by the guards behind him, that she’d done something horrible to him…  


He was alive, Merlin realised as he knelt down next to him. Arthur was alive, breathing, and starting to stir. Merlin’s was not the only sigh of relief. One of the courtiers the Prince had been speaking to when he was attacked stood up to shout that it was alright, he’s alive, but Merlin hardly heard. Arthur was frowning up at him, confused, and still not fully conscious.  
 

“Merlin-” he said, murmuring, but he was cut off by Gaius’ arrival.  
 

“Get him upstairs,” Gaius said, beckoning over two knights. “To his room. See to it.”  
 

And they nodded and did as he said, almost as if he were their king or commander. Merlin was sometimes amazed at how much authority a physician could wield (his mind went to Edwin poisoning the king through his medicine and how easy that could have been).  
 

*

 

After that skip ahead, through a lot of fussing about, and Arthur insisting that he felt _absolutely fine_ over and over (and that he’d get the feeling in his legs back shortly, he was sure), and, eventually, Gaius leaving to go to bed because he was an old man and he needed his sleep, and Merlin would watch over the Prince for the night, wouldn’t he?  
 

Watch over him indeed.  
 

*

 

Once Gaius was gone, Merlin sat down on the edge of the Prince’s bed where Arthur lay sprawled on top of the covers and smiled.  
 

“So how are you feeling?” he asked.  
 

“Still fine, Merlin,” said Arthur, covering a yawn.  
 

“Are you sure?” said Merlin. “You don’t look well.”  
 

“I’m _still fine_ ,” said Arthur. “Why do you think I’m suddenly going to change my mind about that?”  
  
  
“Because now there’s no-one here but me, and you can trust _me_ ,” said Merlin. “How are your legs? Still numb?”He reached over and squeezed the nearest one, just below the knee.  
 

“Hmmph,” said Arthur. “Sort of.”  
 

Merlin reached down and tickled the sole of Arthur’s bare foot. Arthur laughed, and kicked at him.  
 

“Stop it,” he said. Merlin did it again. “I’m warning you, Merlin-” he forced out around his laughter. “If you don’t stop now, I’ll have to-”  
 

*  
 

Skip ahead a few minutes.  
 

“ _Ow-_ Merlin, careful-”  
 

“Sorry, not used to- _oh God-_ ”  
 

Arthur’s shirt had vanished somewhere recently.  
 

“Oh, you like that?”  
 

“ _Arthur…”  
  
_

Merlin’s breeches had likewise vanished.  
 

“Oh- _yes_ , Arthur- don’t stop-”  
 

“Why would I want to”— a pause as his breath hitched—“stop?”  
 

And his jacket was lying on the floor nearby.  
 

“ _Ohhhh…_ ”  
  
 __

“Mmm…”  
 

Then the only sounds were moans, and gasps, and the thumping of the headboard against the wall, and then… silence.  
 

*

 

Back in his quarters, Gaius flicked through a book, one of many the king didn’t know he’d kept (no actual spells, but rather too much information that bordered on it), looking for the translation for the words he’d heard spoken.  
 

Skip ahead a few minutes.  
 

To when he set down the book and frowned.  
 

“Ah,” he said. “Oh, dear.”  
 

He thought of Merlin and Arthur, alone in a room for the night, and desperately hoped he was wrong, about several things. Because if the facts added up the way they seemed to, the future looked very bleak.  
 

*

 

Skip ahead to the next morning, when Merlin arrived back in Gaius’ quarters to change, rumpled and sleepy, but smiling.  
 

His face fell when he was confronted by Gaius and his fearsome angry eyebrow.  
 

“How’s Arthur?” he said.  
 

“Fine,” said Merlin. “Absolutely. I don’t think the spell did anything much.” He started to make his way towards his room. He very much wanted to put on some fresh clothes.  
 

“Don’t be so sure,” said Gaius. Merlin froze. “Merlin, I’m afraid I have to ask you a very personal question.”  
 

Were it possible, Merlin would have frozen more (maybe actually generated some ice). “Go on,” he said.  
 

“Are you sleeping with Arthur?”  
 

There was a moment of horrible, horrible silence. Merlin stared at Gaius over his shoulder in shock, before swallowing noisily and starting to talk.  
 

“What? No! Of course not, what gave you that idea?”  
 

Gaius sighed, and beckoned Merlin over to the table, where he’d laid out his books. “I think you ought to see this,” he said.  
 

Merlin walked over. Very, very slowly. “What is it?” he said.  
 

“I found a translation for the words of the spell that was put on Arthur,” he said. “I think you should see this.”  
 

Merlin sped up, hurrying over to read the words Gaius had written down.  
 

Then he read them again.  
 

And once more, just to check.  
 

Then he took a few steps back, eyes wide with shock. “Oh _no,_ ” he said. “Oh, no no no…”  
 

“You see now why I had to ask,” said Gaius. Merlin nodded, his face now mostly covered by his hands.. “And I’m sorry Merlin, but I need to know- please tell me you haven’t-”  
 

Merlin took a few deep breaths, then peered out from between his fingers. “Sorry?” he said.  
 

Silence. Then:  
 

“Oh, Merlin-”  
 

“I didn’t know! How was I supposed to know? I mean- oh, no no no…” he broke off, gasping for breath again.  
 

“I think you should sit down,” said Gaius.  
 

Merlin let out a quiet whimpering sound, and sank into the nearest chair (which was the one which had one leg shorter than the others, and tended to rock when you sat in it).  
 

The silence that followed was even worse than the one before. Merlin hadn’t even known that was _possible_ , even with magic.  
 

“We have to tell him,” he said eventually. “Should I-” he started to get up, but Gaius held him back, one hand on his shoulder.  
 

“Not right now,” he said. “You’re panicking. Besides, it’s probably best to wait until we’re certain.”  
 

Merlin just nodded, took another deep breath, then said; “I think I need to lie down for a moment.”  
 

*

 

Skip ahead a few minutes, to Merlin lying on the bed in his room, still in his sweaty, rumpled clothes from the night before, filled with a kind of dread that he hadn’t known existed.  
 

But then again, he hadn’t known that a spell to make a man get pregnant existed either.  
 

Oh _no.  
  
_

*  
 

The decision was made that, while Gaius’ translation certainly _seemed_ to be right, he hadn’t heard the words that well, and there was always room for error, after all, and anyway, even if he _was_ right, it might not even have worked (or, as Gaius pointed out to Merlin’s great embarrassment, it might require Arthur to, y’know, _bottom_ )… all in all, the best course of action would be to wait until some sign of Arthur’s new condition presented itself before telling him.  
 

This did, of course, mean that Merlin had to spend the next few weeks finding excuse after excuse not to sleep with Arthur. Just in case.  
 

*

 

Skip ahead about three weeks.  
 

Merlin came into Arthur’s chambers early one morning to find him, unusually, already awake.  
 

However, rather than being up and about, he was lying sprawled across his bed on his back with no shirt on.  
 

“Morning,” said Merlin, closing the door very gently behind him.  
 

“Oh _God_ ,” Arthur groaned.  
 

“Are you alright, sire?” said Merlin.  
 

“Do I _look_ alright, Merlin?” said Arthur, without opening his eyes. “Do I? I’ve thrown up everything that was in my stomach and then some. Ever thrown up on any empty stomach, Merlin?”  
 

“No?” said Merlin. “Is it worse?”  
 

Arthur groaned. “My _throat_ is _burning_.”  
 

“Oh,” said Merlin, shifting from foot to foot (he had, by this point, already made the connection, and was getting very, very worried). “I should fetch Gaius.”  
 

“Yes, I think you should,” said Arthur, sitting up with some effort. Merlin turned to go out the door. “Wait- was he asleep when you left?”  
 

“I think so,” said Merlin, who had left quite exceptionally early that morning (he hadn’t been sleeping well since the incident three weeks ago).  
 

“Then don’t,” said Arthur. “It’s probably nothing serious. There’s no need to wake him.”  
 

“Um…” said Merlin. Arthur looked at him quizzically. “I think I should fetch Gaius.”  
 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Merlin,” he said.  
 

“Well- maybe,” said Merlin. “But-” he broke off. The confusion on Arthur’s face had turned to suspicion.  
 

“But _what?_ ” he said, standing up.  
 

“Well- the thing is- you remember that spell? Three weeks ago?”  
 

“The maidservant,” said Arthur, walking towards him. “Yes. It was quite memorable. Go on.”  
 

“Well- Gaius translated the spell she used.”  
 

“What?” said Arthur, stopping in his tracks. “When?”  
 

“About three weeks ago,” said Merlin, and braced himself.  
 

“Why didn’t you _tell me?!_ ” Arthur shouted.  
 

“We- we thought it was best- we didn’t want to worry you-”  
 

“You didn’t- oh, you- what does it _mean?_ ” said Arthur.  
 

“Ah,” said Merlin. “Well…”  
 

Arthur crossed the remaining space between them almost at a run, and took hold of Merlin by the shoulders. “Merlin, what did it _mean?_ ”  
 

“Well- I’m sorry,” said Merlin.  
 

“Sorry for _what?_ ” said Arthur.  
 

“Having to tell you this,” said Merlin. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fetch Gaius? I think it’d be better if you hear it from hi-”  
 

“Merlin, _tell me!_ ” Arthur shouted, shaking him slightly. Merlin didn’t say anything. “If you don’t tell me in the next _six seconds_ , so help me I will-”  
 

“It was a spell to get men pregnant!” Merlin blurted out.  
 

Arthur paled, and all of the expression seemed to drain out of his face with the colour. He didn’t look shocked or angry, just… blank.  
 

And just like that, Merlin realised he’d found an even _worse_ silence.  
 

“That’s insane,” said Arthur eventually. “That’s- why would you say that?”  
 

“Who, me?” said Merlin, taken aback.  
 

“Yes, you!” said Arthur. “You must have got it wrong, she can’t have-”  
 

“Arthur, we checked it again and again, Gaius got it right, and-”  
 

“ _Shut up!_ ” Arthur roared. “You’re wrong. Just… don’t… you’re wrong.” He let go of Merlin’s shoulders and pushed him away. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin.”  
 

“I should fetch Gaius,” said Merlin.  
 

“Don’t you _dare!_ ” Arthur shouted. “Don’t- if you _ever_ suggest something like that again- if you ever even- don’t- I’ll- I’ll-” he broke off, and covered his mouth with his hand.  
 

“Sire?” said Merlin.  
 

“I think I’m going to throw up again,” said Arthur.  
 

*

 

Arthur did not see Gaius that did. Or the next day. Gaius actually tried to come and see him a few times, but Arthur just shouted at him, and then refused to talk to him.  
 

For a while, he shouted at Merlin every time he brought up the issue of male pregnancy, but then he took to just ignoring him, and changing the subject.  
 

But then things got rather worse.  
 

*

 

Skip ahead about two months, to when Gaius was at his wits’ end, Arthur was furious with absolutely _everyone_ in the castle for one reason or another except his favourite horse, and Merlin had given up trying.  
 

Until the horrible day when Arthur was putting on a jacket, and realised that… things had got worse.  
 

He’d been throwing up every morning, and had shouted at Merlin whenever he called it morning sickness, but he could handle that, tell himself he was just ill, but…  
 

He’d been telling Merlin the details of his plans for the afternoon when he noticed, and broke off.  
 

“Arthur?” said Merlin. “What’s wrong?”  
 

“Oh _God_ ,” said Arthur, staring down at himself. Merlin, evidently having followed his gaze, came round to look.  
 

“Oh,” he said, then, much to Arthur’s irritation, reached out to feel his stomach.  
 

Arthur shouted at him for a good three or four minutes – which didn’t make him feel much better – then crossed the room and sank down in his favourite chair.  
 

He tried thinking that he’d somehow put on some weight, but that just wasn’t what it looked like. He looked… oh, _God.  
  
_

“Should I fetch Gaius now?” said Merlin behind him.  
 

“No,” said Arthur. There was some scuffling of feet – Merlin shifting about.  
 

“Are you sure?” he said.  
 

“Yes,” said Arthur. He took his head in his hands. Oh _God.  
  
_

Then there were footsteps, and Merlin appeared in front of him. “You can’t keep doing this,” he said. “You have to speak to him.”  
 

Arthur ignored him. Oh _God,_ oh _God…  
_

“Sooner or later people are going to notice this, Arthur,” said Merlin.  
 

Arthur stared down at himself. Merlin was right, as much as he hated to admit it.  
 

But then again… he was sick, he was ill, and Gaius was a physician… he could do something about this.  
 

“Fetch Gaius,” he said. Merlin smiled – beamed – and left him alone.  
 

*

 

Gaius did not take kindly to Arthur’s suggestion for a cure. There was much shouting.  
 

Skip back a few minutes.  
 

The first thing Gaius wanted to do when he arrived was see the new evidence of Arthur’s _condition_ , then he started asking him about ‘morning sickness’ (which Arthur had not been getting).  
 

Arthur shouted at him for quite some time before slumping back down into his chair.  
 

“He doesn’t like it when you call it that,” Merlin said quietly.  
 

“Shut up, Merlin,” he said.  
 

Gaius started questioning him again, this time choosing his words rather more carefully.  
 

“Oh, for-” Arthur stood up. “Do you really have to take so long over this? I have things to do this afternoon.”  
 

“Sire, you can’t just carry on as if nothing has happened-”  
 

“Yes I _can,_ ” said Arthur. “Because we can _fix this_.”  
 

Gaius did not immediately understand what he meant, but it was easily clarified. And then he was _livid.  
  
_

“You can’t possibly be seriously suggesting that I-”  
 

“Yes.”  
 

“Sire, I will not-”  
 

“Yes, you will,” said Arthur. “I am your _prince_ , and I am _ordering you to._ ”  
 

“Sire, _no!_ ”  
 

“ _Damn it_ , Gaius!” Arthur kicked over the nearest chair. He started towards the physician, but Merlin stopped him, took hold of his arms.  
 

“Arthur, you can’t-”  
 

Arthur pushed him away, with some force, and then followed that up by _punching him in the face_. “Shut _up_ , Merlin!” he shouted. Merlin’s lip was split, he noticed, and it was bleeding.  
 

“Arthur!” Gaius barked, in the same tone he’d used to order Arthur around when he was five and refusing to take his medicine for a cold. “Sit down!”  
 

Arthur sat down.  
 

“I will _not_ do what you are suggesting. I’m a physician. I’m supposed to _preserve_ life, not destroy it.”  
 

“This is the result of a curse, it hardly counts-”  
 

“What I’m going to do,” said Gaius, cutting him off. “Is let it be known that you are very ill, and it is very contagious, and therefore you can have no visitors other than Merlin and myself.”  
 

“What, already?” said Arthur.  
 

“Yes,” said Gaius. “Now. As of today.”  
 

“But I-”  
 

“I doubt anyone will have any trouble believing it,” Gaius continued. “Forgive me for saying this, sire, but you haven’t been at your best for weeks.”  
 

Arthur opened his mouth, with all sorts of things to say, like _this is ridiculous, there’s nothing wrong with me_ , and _but I have work to do_ and _Oh God oh God oh God_ , but none of them came out.  
 

Then Gaius was leaving the room, and locking the door behind him with Arthur’s own keys, which he had left on the table.  
 

There was silence (which wasn’t as bad as the silence of two months prior, but pretty close).  
 

Then Merlin spoke.  
 

“Arthur-” he said.  
 

“Shut up,” said Arthur, then: “I’m sorry for hitting you, you didn’t deserve that.”  
 

“It’s alright,” said Merlin softly.  
 

*

 

Though he’d thought, at first, that it was rather stupid, he started calling it ‘his condition’ in his own head.  
 

He was sick. That was all it was.He was _sick_ and he would _get better.  
  
_

He passed his time doing paperwork and throwing things at Merlin and trying to ignore what was happening to his body.  
 

After a while he had to stop lacing up his breeches.  
 

*

 

Skip ahead another month or so. Arthur was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and Merlin used the p-word.  
 

He’d been talking about laundry – something to do with shirts – and he’d messed something up. Arthur shouted at him for a good five minutes (he called him ‘incompetent’ a lot, but he couldn’t remember much else), then apologised for it.  
 

“It’s alright,” Merlin had said. “It’s normal to get like this when you’re pregnant-”  
 

“What did you say?” said Arthur, trying (and failing) to sit up. “What did you _say?!_ ”  
 

“That it’s normal to- that you’re pregnant?” said Merlin. “But-”  
 

“I am _not_ pregnant, Merlin,” said Arthur. “ _Pregnancy_ is a joyful and happy time for a woman, not something that comes from a _curse_. _This_ is not _joyful_. _This_ is _disgusting_ and _emasculating_ and-”  
 

He stopped struggling and fell back down against the bed. Merlin’s face appeared over him. “D’you want some help?” he said.  
 

“No,” said Arthur.  
 

That was the end of conversation for the day.  
 

*

 

It _was_ disgusting. Arthur had never felt so disgusted at himself in his life. He couldn’t look down at himself any more, couldn’t get up from sitting or lying down without help, had to _shut his eyes_ every time he took a bath so he couldn’t have to see it-  
 

And more and more he was terrified of what would happen when this was all over, how he could go back to his old life after _this_ -  
 

And that was not as bad as it got.  
  
 

*  
 

Skip ahead another few weeks.  
 

Arthur was sitting at the table, waiting for Merlin to arrive with lunch.  
 

Lunch turned out to be venison stew (for the first few weeks he’d been fed only soup, and he’d had to make Merlin go and tell the cooks that, while he was very ill (though not dying, that had been made clear to all) he was capable of eating solid food), which Arthur liked perfectly well.  
 

Or most of the time he did, anyway.  
 

“Oh, _God,_ ” he said, and pushed his plate away. He suddenly felt rather sick.  
 

“What’s the matter?” said Merlin.  
 

“I can’t eat this,” he said.  
 

“But you _like-”  
  
_

“Look, just- take it away?” he said.  
 

Merlin did not question him any further, just took the plate and locked the door carefully behind him.  
 

Once he was gone, Arthur heaved himself out of his chair, staggered across the room, and threw up into a bucket he’d had to start keeping for that purpose.  
 

“Oh, _God._ ”  
 

*

 

Arthur didn’t think it could get any worse than that.  
 

Not because of the venison incident in particular, because hell, he could do without venison (and mushrooms, as it turned out). Just because, at around that time, it didn’t seem like things could get any worse.  
 

He was wrong.  
 

*

 

Skip ahead another month, to when Arthur broke off in the middle of berating Merlin, looked down at himself, and touched his stomach for the first time in, well… a very long time.  
 

Actually, skip back a few minutes.  
 

This time, the subject of his rant had been the curtains.  
 

“You’re just going to have to get some new ones,” he’d been saying. “These ones don’t fit the window right. I keep getting the sun in my eyes when I wake up, and it hurts my eyes, and I can do without that, thank you.”  
 

“Of course,” said Merlin, who had long since learned not to argue with anything Arthur said any more.  
 

“And another thing,” said Arthur. “They’re the wrong colour.”  
 

Merlin stared at him. “They’re red,” he said slowly. “ _Everything_ in your room is red. Or wood-coloured.”  
 

“ _Brown_ , Merlin,” said Arthur. “Wood is _brown._ Or occasionally yellow-ish. But that’s not the point. Stop changing the subject, would you? The point is they’re the wrong _shade_ of-” That was when he broke off.  
 

And if Merlin hadn’t been worried by that, he most definitely was when he saw Arthur lay a hand on his own stomach.  
 

“What’s wrong?” he said, suddenly right in front of Arthur.  
 

“Ah,” said Arthur. “Oh- oh _god-_ ” He staggered backwards and sank down rather too heavily into a chair.  
 

“What is it?” said Merlin, following him. Arthur’s hand had not moved.  
 

“What _is_ that?” he said. Merlin reached out, hesitated for a moment (Arthur tended to object to people doing this), then laid his hand alongside Arthur’s.  
 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh- that’s- it’s _kicking._ ”  
 

 _Kicking_ , Arthur thought, was not the right verb; whatever was inside him was _squirming_ , wriggling about, and it felt absolutely _horrible.  
  
_

“Make it _stop_ ,” he said through gritted teeth.  
 

“Arthur, don’t be ridiculous, I can’t just-” Merlin broke off. The movement had ceased.  
 

“There, see?” said Arthur. “Was that so hard?” He made an attempt at getting out of his chair unaided, but fell back, as he tended to do these days.  
 

Merlin offered him his hand. Because Arthur never, _ever_ , asked for it.  
 

*

 

Arthur didn’t sleep well that night.  
 

Up until that night, he’d managed to persuade himself that what was growing inside him was dead weight, like some kind of tumour, or a bizarre extra organ, or- nothing _alive.  
  
_

But now it was moving – admittedly not much, but enough – and he couldn’t stand that. Every little movement was a reminder of what, exactly, was happening to him, that horrible little fact that he’d done so well at ignoring until now, that there was something _alive_ growing inside him, that he was… well, _pregnant.  
  
_

The idea of ever going back to his old life seemed worse and worse. He felt sure that if he ever had to be in a room with his father or Morgana or one of his knights, they’d look at him and _know_ , see that there was something different about him, something _female_.He imagined his father being disgusted by him, saying that he couldn’t be his heir after this, that he would never look upon him as his son again, his knights refusing to follow any of his orders, Morgana, Morgana…  
 

Oh _God.  
_

He had one particularly strange dream in which Morgana and Gwen found out and dressed him up as a woman with much joy, while he protested, and Merlin watched, wearing a green suit of armour and carrying a chicken.  
 

But mostly he began to dream about things crawling around inside him, inhuman things, things with tentacles or claws or jointed legs-  
 

Sometimes they would tear their way out of him, pin him down, and-  
 

In one of them, rather than some kind of monster, it was _himself_ crawling out of his stomach, naked and covered in blood. He crawled out, stood up, looked down at himself – at Arthur – in disgust, then walked away, leaving him behind like a husk or a shell.  
 

But mostly his mind just invented monsters or snakes or something like that, living inside him, feeding off him-  
 

Often he’d wake up in the night and throw up in a bucket beside his bed.  
 

He didn’t mention the dreams to Merlin and Gaius. Not ever.  
 

*  
 

Skip ahead another few weeks, to the day of the wonderful chair-throwing (well, Merlin didn’t think it was wonderful, but Arthur had a great time).  
 

Arthur was distracting himself from the way the thing was crawling inside him by shouting at Merlin for giving him the wrong kind of bread at breakfast, even though they both knew he’d only just now decided he couldn’t eat it any more.  
 

Merlin made the mistake of pointing this out.  
 

“How _dare_ you?” said Arthur, who’d yet to sit down to eat his breakfast, and so didn’t need to stand up. “How _dare_ you?”  
 

“Oh, come on, Arthur,” said Merlin, backing away towards the wall nervously. “Stop blaming me for everything.”  
 

“Why _shouldn’t_ I?!” Arthur shouted. “This is your fault! You- you-” he recalled very clearly that it had been him who’d started their relationship, and, as it happened, _him_ who’d initiated the encounter that had led to this, so he didn’t take that thought any further. “If you and Gaius had just done what I said, this would all have been sorted months ago!”  
 

Merlin stared at him for a few seconds, speechless, mouth working silently, then said: “I don’t know how you could even have suggested that! This is our _child,_ Arthur, you can’t just-”  
 

At this point, Arthur just wanted to _shut him up_ (he couldn’t stand to hear any more).  
 

One of the legs broke off the chair when it hit the wall. Unfortunately, Merlin managed to dodge it, and stood there looking from it to Arthur in silence.  
 

“You _broke_ it,” he said, and there was more than a hint of fear in his eyes. “You- you-” he broke off, then turned and began to unlock the door.  
 

“Don’t you _dare-_ ” said Arthur, trying to run over and stop him (which he _should be able to do_ , damn it), but took far too long. By the time he got there, Merlin was locking the door behind him, leaving him to tug on the handle ineffectually, and shout after him.  
 

*

 

That was not the wonderful part, though it contributed to it.  
 

*

 

After Merlin left, Arthur tried to pick up what was left of the chair, but failed miserably – only succeeded in making his back ache – and sat down to eat his breakfast instead.  
 

Skip ahead about an hour, to when Merlin came back, to find Arthur standing near the window, staring out (carefully positioned so he couldn’t be seen from below). He’d managed to get up from eating breakfast on his own for once.  
 

“Are you feeling any better, sire?” said Merlin as he locked the door.  
 

“No, but I think I know what would help,” said Arthur. “Hand me the broken chair, would you?”  
 

Merlin lifted the chair, but didn’t bring it over. “You’re not going to throw it at me again, are you?” he said.  
 

“No,” said Arthur. “Don’t worry.” He reached out for it. Merlin came forward by degrees, very hesitant, and gave it to him.  
 

“Thank you,” said Arthur.  
 

Then he turned and threw the chair out the window. It landed heavily, shattering on the ground – it made a _wonderful_ sound – and several people _screamed.  
  
_

Merlin rushed to the window, and stared out, appalled. Arthur just laughed, then sank down on to his bed. “ _Much_ better.”  
 

“Why did you-” Merlin started, but broke off. “Arthur- you’re really starting to scare me. Gaius made me come back here, in case you- you know,” he gestured quite incredibly vaguely, but Arthur could guess. Then he looked suddenly panic-stricken, his eyes flicking to Arthur’s stomach. “You haven’t, have you?”  
 

“No, Merlin,” said Arthur. “I think you’d have noticed.”  
 

He lay back on his bed, in a better mood than he’d been in for months, and ignored the brief surge of movement inside him.  
 

“You should get that chair back,” he said.  
 

*

 

Skip ahead about twenty minutes, to Merlin arriving back in his room clutching some bits of wood that vaguely resembled pieces of a chair, and Arthur laughing at him. _A lot.  
  
_

“I met your father,” he said as he dumped the chair parts and locked the door. “He asked about the chair. When I told him you threw it out the window he started suggesting that if you were well enough to do _that_ , maybe you were well enough to come out of your room.”  
 

This was not what made Arthur laugh. It just made him feel slightly sick.  
 

“I told him you did it from your bed. Then I had to tell him we’d moved your bed, so you could see your the window from it. And then he said that that would put the bed in front of the doors, so-”  
 

This was when Arthur started laughing. He laughed for several minutes.  
 

Then he found he couldn’t get up off the bed, and the thing decided to do a few back flips, and his day was ruined.  
 

It was nice while it lasted.  
 

*

 

The next day when Arthur threw stuff wasn’t so good.  
 

Skip ahead a couple of days, to one evening when Merlin questioned Arthur’s decision to stand and throw random things like bits of paper that may or may not be important and leftover dinner into the fire, and Arthur did not like that Merlin didn’t respect this decision.  
 

“But _why?_ ” said Merlin, rescuing the most important bits of paper from the heap, and putting them somewhere else.  
 

“Why do you _think?_ ” said Arthur. “I’m _bored_ , Merlin. I’ve been in my room for going on _six months_ now, with no-one to talk to but you and _Gaius_. I’m _bored_.”  
 

Not to mention that he couldn’t stand the idea of going to sleep any more, and tended to try and stay awake as long as possible.  
 

“Well, then,” said Merlin, taking the next slip of paper out of his hand, and crossing the room to put it with the other ones he’d saved from the flames. “Why don’t I just tell Morgana the truth? I’m sure she’d be glad to come and talk to you for a while-”  
 

Arthur snatched a plate off the table and flung it at him. It shattered against the wall in a way that was only mildly satisfying, so he picked up the rest of his pile of burnable materials, and threw them all in the fire at once.  
 

Behind him, Merlin began to gather up bits of broken china.  
 

*

 

A few weeks after that, Merlin and Gaius trapped him by waiting until he was lying down on his bed, and then coming to stand on either side so they could explain what they intended to do in about two months time, ‘when… y’know’, as Merlin so eloquently put it.  
 

Arthur shouted at them both for a while, but he was tired and it wasn’t terribly intimidating when he was horizontal and they were vertical.  
 

So he gave up, and tried not to listen.  
 

Until Gaius got to the part about magic.  
 

“ _What?!_ ” he said, making a brief effort at sitting up (thwarted when Gaius laid a hand on his shoulder and made him lie down again).  
 

“I was just saying, sire, that by far the best way to go about this will be to use a healing spell,” he claimed. “Seeing as there’s obviously no way you’re going to be giving birth.”  
 

“Well, _obviously_ ,” said Arthur. He didn’t tell them that that particular scenario had been the subject of several nightmares of his (strange slimy things crawling out form between his legs rather than just bursting out of his stomach).  
 

“Therefore I’m afraid it looks rather like we shall have to… cut it out of you.”  
 

“Cut it out,” said Arthur, who hadn’t given the issue much thought.  
 

“I’m afraid so,” said Gaius. “And then I think we shall have to use a healing spell.”  
 

“A healing spell,” said Arthur.  
 

“Yes,” said Gaius. “It’s unlikely you’ll survive without one, Arthur. This really is the best course of action.”  
 

“The best course of action,” said Arthur, who’d taken to repeating the last few words Gaius said back to him. He turned to face Merlin, who nodded.  
 

Then he shut his eyes very tightly.  
 

“And how, exactly, do you plan to go about this?” he said.  
 

“Ah, well-” said Merlin.  
 

“Merlin will perform it,” said Gaius.  
 

Arthur’s eyes snapped open, and he very much wanted to sit up. “ _Merlin?!_ ”  
 

Gaius nodded.  
 

“ _Merlin?!_ ”  
 

“Yes,” said Gaius. “And sire, I think that’s the least of your worries at the moment.”  
 

“Thank you for reminding me of that, Gaius,” he said. “Could you leave me and Merlin alone for a moment?”  
 

Gaius could not. Arthur shouted at him again. Then he could.  
 

*

 

The next ten minutes was very loud.  
 

Then it was very quiet.  
 

*

 

Arthur agreed to the healing spell in the end. But only after Merlin threatened to fetch Morgana into the room if he didn’t (because he was _sure_ she could help persuade him, if she knew).  
 

He also threatened to tell Uther about Arthur’s _condition_ if Arthur ever tried to have him executed.  
 

Arthur wasn’t sure he really knew Merlin any more.  
 

He’d thought he did.  
 

*

 

He apologised to Merlin for a lot of things the next morning, said that he didn’t _really_ think that Merlin had conspired with that witch to do this to him, nor did he think that Merlin was responsible for every other bad thing magic had ever done to him, nor did he think Merlin was secretly a shape-shifting snake demon who had sex with his mother and sometimes farm animals.  
 

Merlin said that it was alright, and he’d already known Arthur didn’t mean the last part, because he tended to stay stuff like that about people when he was very, very angry (or drunk).  
 

*

 

Skip ahead to about a month after that, when Arthur had got to the stage when he had to wear his nightshirt most of the time, with his breeches unlaced and pulled down as far as they could go and still be decent, which, along with the fact that the thing tended to wriggle around inside him _a lot_ , and the fact that his nightmares were getting worse, and that he knew that people were starting to wonder what was wrong with him that could be keeping him shut away for so long…  
 

Arthur was depressed. Even throwing books at Merlin didn’t cheer him up any more.  
 

“It’s almost over, you know,” Merlin said to him one evening.  
 

“Hmm?” said Arthur. The thing shifted inside him, and he winced.  
 

“Is it moving?” Merlin said. He nodded. “Gaius says it’s probably very healthy,” said Merlin.  
 

“I don’t care,” said Arthur. He just wanted it _gone.  
  
_

“Well, _I_ care,” Merlin muttered.  
 

“That’s very nice for you,” said Arthur.  
 

Merlin put down the plates he’d been stacking up and turned to him. “In case you’d forgotten, I’m rather intimately involved in this,” he said.  
 

“Oh really?” said Arthur. “How’s that?”  
 

Merlin glared at him. Arthur stared back.  
 

It was a few moments before he remembered.  
 

“Oh, _God_ ,” he said, the groaned as it moved again. He closed his eyes.  
 

The bed shifted slightly. Merlin had sat down next to him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. But- aren’t you the least bit- I mean-” he broke off.  
 

“No,” said Arthur. He opened his eyes. Merlin muttered something he couldn’t make out, then reached out towards his stomach.  
 

“May I?” he said.  
 

Arthur let his head sink back on to the pillows. “Knock yourself out,” he said.  
 

He winced when Merlin first touched him.  
 

“Hands are cold,” he said softly.  
 

“Sorry,” Merlin murmured, stroking him almost _fondly.  
  
_

It was alright for a minutes or so – Arthur just tried to ignore it, let Merlin get on with it – then he pressed down a little more, and the thing _responded_ to him. It shifted about, and Arthur jerked away from Merlin’s hand.  
 

“Don’t,” he said. “Stop, just- don’t.”  
 

Merlin took his hand away. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean- I only wanted-”  
 

“Just- leave me alone,” said Arthur.  
 

Merlin did, leaving the room with the plates, and locking the door. Arthur was left alone to wallow in misery.  
 

*

 

Skip ahead about ten minutes later, and he was wishing he’d let Merlin stay.  
 

*

 

Gaius had confessed to him a few weeks after the healing spell incident that he really didn’t know what, if anything, would happen when nine months were up.  
 

He was, however, pretty certain that nothing would happen at all.Because Arthur lacked all the relevant anatomy to make anything happen.  
 

Arthur was a little suspicious of this reasoning, because he didn’t have any of the relevant anatomy for _any_ of this to have happened.  
 

As it turned out, he was right, and Gaius was very much wrong.  



	2. Chapter 2

Skip ahead a month.

 

Arthur had started the day the same way he always did – helped out of his bed and into his breeches by Merlin, then into a chair to eat his breakfast (the overall experience never failed to make him feel like some kind of cripple).

 

Gaius came in to make sure he was alright, and was assured that he felt as well as he always did (which was not well at all).

 

Once he was gone, Arthur just sat and watched as Merlin cleared his breakfast away, and couldn’t even be bothered to shout at him when he dropped and broke a plate, just told him to clear it up quietly.

 

All in all, it was a very quiet morning.

 

For a while.

 

*

 

Skip ahead a couple of hours.

 

Arthur didn’t think much of it at first… it didn’t hurt that much, after all, and he didn’t think it was anything more than the thing finding some new way to torment him.

 

But then it started to get worse.

 

He did his best to keep quiet – gritted his teeth and gripped the arms of his chair as hard as he could – but he couldn’t suppress a groan of pain.

 

“Are you alright?” said Merlin.

 

“I’m fine,” he gasped out. “Just- I’m fine, I’ll be fine-” he broke off and groaned again.

 

Merlin just nodded.

 

*

 

Skip ahead about half an hour, and his was lying on his bed, alternately writhing in pain and desperately trying to get his breath back, while a frantic Merlin went to find Gaius.

 

Merlin arrived back even more frantic than he’d been when he left. He almost forgot to lock the door behind him.

 

“He’s not there,” he said, speaking rather too quickly. “He’d left a note saying he had to go and do- something, I forget what- and he’s going to be a few hours.”

 

He stared at Arthur. Arthur stared back, then threw back his head and screamed.

 

Merlin, rather than rushing to his aid, like he should have done, even though Arthur would probably have shouted at him for it, just turned away and began muttering something at the door.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” said Arthur, trying to sit up.

 

“Soundproofing the room,” said Merlin, without turning around. “It’s a spell. Someone’s going to hear you, and think you’re dying or something. And that would be bad.”

 

Arthur was going to agree, but was struck by another wave of pain.

 

“Sire?” he heard, and opened his eyes. Merlin was standing over him, now. “Is there anything I can do?”

 

“Help me sit up,” he said, conscious of the fact that he’d never asked Merlin to do that before. Merlin didn’t comment on this – just wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him upright.

 

He knew exactly what was happening – whatever part of him the spell – curse – had affected, the part that had been changed, that was now so shamefully female, was trying to make him give birth, and every other cell in his body was protesting with all its might.

 

The next time he could think of something other than how much it hurt, he realised Merlin had pulled up a chair and was sitting next to him (he was shaking slightly). He reached out and tried to take Arthur’s hand, but was batted away.

 

“Don’t,” he said, then closed his eyes and choked back another scream.

 

*

 

Skip ahead an hour or so.

 

Merlin was sitting and listening quietly while Arthur yelled out a string of the vilest curse words he knew, before letting his head fall back against the pillows, and groaning.

 

“Well, you’re certainly not taking this like a woman,” said Merlin. Arthur glared at him. “So to speak.”

 

Arthur took a handful of the sheets beneath him in one hand and squeezed it very hard, teeth gritted, eyes closed.

 

“I just don’t know why she did this,” Merlin said when he opened his eyes again.

 

“Who?” said Arthur.

 

“The sorceress,” said Merlin. “This just seems so utterly pointless.”

 

“It’s obvious, Merlin,” said Arthur. “All I want to know is why she didn’t just castrate me and have done with it- ah- _ahh_ - _oh god_ …”

 

*

 

It was another hour and a half before Gaius arrived, irritatingly calm in the face of a panicking Merlin and an exhausted Arthur (whose hair was, by this point, plastered to his forehead with sweat, and who had been reduced to mostly making pathetic little sounds of pain that were sometimes almost whimpers).

 

All he did was lock the door, tell Merlin very firmly to calm down, and apologise to Arthur.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should have thought before-”

 

“It’s quite alright,” said Arthur weakly. He didn’t feel he had the strength to get angry.

 

Gaius sat down next to him, then, and began to ask him questions, but Arthur couldn’t hear him through the haze of pain that had descended.

 

He managed to choke out a few answers eventually, while Merlin hovered about them in a profoundly annoying fashion. To his delight, Gaius eventually turned and told him to calm down again.

 

Then he began to explain to Arthur exactly what he intended to do, even tugging up his nightshirt (he’d taken his breeches off by this point) to show him where he was going to cut.

 

“I have a numbing spell, sire,” he said. “That should take away most of the pain, but-”

 

“No,” said Arthur.

 

“Sire?” said Gaius, raising one eyebrow in disapproval. Merlin reappeared behind him.

 

“I said no,” said Arthur. “I want you to use as l-little magic as possible. No arguments.”

 

“But-”

 

“No!” Arthur snapped.

 

Merlin and Gaius turned away to have a brief conversation in lowered voices that were somewhat redundant seeing as Arthur was very much distracted while they were speaking.

 

Then they both vanished away to the other end of the room to get ready.

 

They didn’t say anything when they came back, at first. Gaius just gestured at Merlin, who nodded back, and came to perch on the bed next to Arthur. He slid one arm round his shoulders, then shifted back, pulling Arthur down to lean on his chest.

 

“Try not to move too much, sire,” said Gaius. He was holding a knife, Arthur noticed. He turned his head away.

 

He felt Merlin reach down and take his hand, twist their fingers together, and this time he let it happen.

 

Every nightmare he’d had in the last few months was about to come true. He was sure of it.

 

*

 

What actually happened turned out to be rather worse.

He managed not to move at all. He was proud of that. Other than flinching, once, when the knife first touched his skin, he stayed still, gritting his teeth once again, and squeezing Merlin’s hand so tightly it probably hurt (he rather hoped it did), but not moving, and hardly making a sound.

 

But, as it happened, lying there half-naked while Merlin cradled him like a child, and Gaius calmly and coolly slit his stomach open with a dagger was many, many times worse than any dream he’d had.

 

In none of his dreams had he felt his own blood pouring out across his skin. None of them had hurt quite this much (he’d been injured before, lots of times, but none of them had been like this, careful and precise). He held his breath, and didn’t let it out until Gaius took the knife away, and reached inside.

 

After a moment, Merlin made a soft sound, a little gasp, and he couldn’t stand it any more, he had to see, see what had been inside of him-

 

He sat up. It was a struggle, and Merlin tried to stop him – ‘No, don’t look, Arthur…’ – but he managed it.

 

He saw Gaius’s hands, covered in his blood, and in them was- a baby. No tentacles or claws or scales, just a baby, covered in blood and various other fluids he didn’t care to identify, but otherwise perfect and whole, and that, that-

 

Somehow, that was worse than anything he’d dreamed up.

 

The world went grey.

 

*

 

Skip ahead – well, Arthur wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Long enough that they’d moved away from him, and someone had adjusted his nightshirt so he was decent again, but not long enough for them to have washed away the blood.

 

He woke up lying in a pool of his own blood, with Merlin and Gaius talking in hushed voices on the other side of the room.

 

He opened his eyes. Merlin was holding _it_ , holding the _thing_ , wrapped in a blanket, and staring down at it with a sort of puzzled-but-happy look on his face.

 

He didn’t notice Arthur looking at him until Gaius nudged him gently. And then, to Arthur’s horror, he beamed and started forward, bringing it over towards him.

 

“No,” he said. “Don’t- keep it away from me,” he gasped out. Merlin stopped dead. His face fell. “Keep that thing away from me.”

 

Merlin just stood and stared at him, while Arthur stared back, and they probably would have stayed that way until they all starved if Gaius hadn’t gently taken the bundle out of Merlin’s arms, whispered something in his ear, then tucked the thing away into the basket he’d brought with him and left the room in silence.

 

Arthur closed his eyes, and opened them to find Merlin standing over him with a bowl of water and cloth.

 

“Sorry,” he said, dipping the cloth in the water. “We’d have done this earlier, but we were a bit distracted, because, because- well, you know.”

 

“Hmmph,” said Arthur, wincing as the cold water dripped down onto his skin.

 

“You’ll have to get up soon so I can change the sheets,” said Merlin.

 

“Mmph,” said Arthur, propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch. He had blood all over his hands, he noticed. He had no idea how that had happened.

 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” said Merlin.

 

“No,” said Arthur, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling.

 

“Nothing at all?” said Merlin.

 

“Nothing at all,” Arthur repeated.

 

Merlin scrubbed at his stomach in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

 

“It’s a girl,” he said.

 

“I don’t care,” said Arthur, to the ceiling.

 

“Look, aren’t you the least bit-”

 

Arthur let his head fall forward and interrupted. “No, Merlin, I am _not_ ,” he said. “Not at all, and I never will be. Do you understand that, Merlin?” Merlin started to answer, but he cut him off. “Do you want to know what you can do for me, Merlin?” Merlin nodded. “Kill it.”

 

There was a prolonged silence. Those two words seemed to hang in the air between them.

 

“…What?” said Merlin, very, very quietly.

 

“Kill it,” said Arthur. “I want you to take that _thing_ , and _kill it_.”

 

Merlin dropped the cloth back into the bowl, stood up, and backed away.

 

“Arthur- how can you- you- she’s your _daughter_ ,” said Merlin. “Don’t you- can’t you see-”

 

“That _thing_ ,” said Arthur. “Is not my daughter.”

 

“But-”

 

“Don’t argue, Merlin,” he said, slumping back down.

 

About a minute passed in silence. Then Merlin came back, sat down on the chair he’d left by Arthur’s bed, and retrieved his cloth.

 

“Give me your hands,” he murmured.

 

*

 

Skip ahead about an hour, to when Arthur was clean, having had the worst of the blood wiped away, and the rest washed off in a bath. The sheets on his bed had been replaced by fresh ones (God knows what Merlin was going to do with the old ones, the ones that were positively drenched in his blood), and he was wearing a different nightshirt.

 

Neither of them had spoken a word beyond the bare minimum.

 

*

 

Arthur recovered quite remarkably quickly afterwards. Once the spell that had been keeping him – well, pregnant – wasn’t affecting him any more, his body went back to had it had been in only a few weeks (save for the scar across his stomach, and some fading stretch marks that he tried his best to ignore).

 

Merlin kept trying to get him interested in the thing. He’d come in and tell him cheerfully that they’d found a wet-nurse, and start telling Arthur what they’d told her.

 

He kept asking if Arthur wanted to see it. Arthur would sometimes get very angry in response, but mostly he just told him ‘no’, simply and calmly.

 

Because Arthur could see the truth. The thing was cleverer than he’d thought it was. It had disguised itself as a normal baby, but inside it was the same, clawed, tentacled monster that had torn him apart so many times in his dreams.

 

Therefore he had to keep his distance, didn’t he? It had already ripped everything he’d thought he’d known about himself, everything of Arthur that people couldn’t actually see, everything inside, to shreds, and it was waiting to finish the job.

 

Arthur had to keep his distance.

 

*

 

Because he’d recovered so well, Gaius had let it be known that he was on the mend, and would be leaving his room soon.

 

But a month and a half after… giving birth… Arthur had yet to cross the threshold.

 

Gaius asked him about it over and over, wanted him to talk about it, but he wouldn’t. All he’d say was that he didn’t want to leave just yet.

 

Merlin, thankfully, didn’t press the issue.

 

*

 

Or not for a while. Not until one evening when he just demanded to know what was going on.

 

“You have to go outside eventually,” he said.

 

“Yes, I suppose I do,” said Arthur from his chair (he’d taken to keeping the curtains closed all the time, so he wouldn’t even have to look at the outside world).

 

“Maybe if you just talk about it-”

 

“There’s nothing wrong. I just don’t feel like going outside.”

 

“Look,” Merlin came and knelt down beside his chair. “I understand, I do, but Camelot needs you. You can’t just-”

 

“Oh, you understand, do you, Merlin?” Arthur stood up, suddenly towering over Merlin.

 

“I think so,” said Merlin, getting to his feet awkwardly. “I know you’re depressed, Arthur, but-”

 

“I am not depressed,” said Arthur. “I just- I can’t look at myself,” he said. “I can’t. And I can’t let anyone else see me, either.”

 

“Why not?” said Merlin. “Arthur, you’re not-”

 

“I just- I don’t know what I am any more,” said Arthur. “I don’t know what people will see when they look at me. All I know is that they won’t see me the same way, Merlin- they can’t possibly-”

 

“They will, Arthur,” said Merlin. “How could they know- they need their Prince.”

 

“That’s just it,” said Arthur. “I can’t be there Prince. I don’t think anyone would see a Prince when they saw me, or a leader, or, or- that’s not what I see any more,” he said. “I don’t even see a man any more, Merlin,” he said. “I can’t even see myself as a man.”

 

Merlin said nothing; just stepped forward, pressing himself up against Arthur.

 

“What are you doing?” said Arthur. Merlin took hold of his arms and wrapped them around his own narrow waist. “Merlin?”

 

“Kiss me,” said Merlin.

 

“What?” said Arthur.

 

“Kiss me. Arthur, I want you to- I want you to take me,” he said. “On the bed or up against the wall or over the table, I don’t care, just- take me. Please?”

 

Arthur closed his eyes.

 

*

 

Skip ahead about a minute and a half, and he had Merlin pressed down on the bed – the same bed, he thought, where only a few short weeks ago Gaius had cut a squalling infant out of him. He suppressed that thought as quickly as he could, and distracted himself by actually tearing Merlin’s shirt off him.

 

Merlin gasped, then let out a choked little sound, and thrust up against Arthur, grinding up against his thigh, gripping his hips with both hands-

 

Arthur tugged Merlin’s hands off them and held them pinned above his head. “Don’t,” he said. “Stay still.” Merlin nodded, licked his lips, and moaned.

*

 

 

It wasn’t like it had been before.

 

Before it had been awkward and often slightly clumsy (on Merlin’s part, at least), and most of the time Merlin just would not shut up and would continue to talk and complain all the way through-

 

Now, all he did was moan and gasp and scream as Arthur pressed three fingers inside him, forcing him open (it had been so long, he was so tight), stretching him as wide as he could, then-

 

Then he pushed into him, and it was so much harder than he remembered, tighter and hotter and so, so much better.

 

He’d let go of Merlin’s wrists, but he’d kept his hands above his head, gripping the pillows tightly, and was now staring beseechingly up at Arthur, obviously wanting him to move, but not daring to ask-

 

Arthur pulled out, and then thrust into him, again and again, hands gripping Merlin’s waist, moving him, making him move against him, and _oh God oh God oh God_ -

 

*

 

Skip ahead a while.

 

Merlin lay slack in Arthur’s arms, panting, but otherwise silent.

 

“Well,” said Arthur. Merlin’s only response was a soft moan.

 

Then he swallowed, shifted slightly, lifted his head, and said; “Do you feel better?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “Maybe. Perhaps.” He pulled Merlin’s head back down to rest on him.

 

There was silence for a moment. Then Merlin shifted again, starting to raise his head.

 

“Don’t,” said Arthur. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

 

“I wasn’t going to-”

 

“Yes, you were.”

 

He sighed.

 

*

 

Skip ahead about a week and a half, to when Arthur finally (finally) ventured out of his room (after actual threats from Merlin and Gaius, after they told him over and over that he was just being irresponsible now…).

 

Everyone was… a little subdued, around him. They were all very concerned. He didn’t go back to training or hunting for another week or so (because he was supposed to only just have been well enough to come outside), but other than that, it was almost as if nothing had changed.

 

Morgana came to visit him. She spoke to him like she always had. Later, Gwen confided in him that her mistress had missed him very much, whatever she said.

 

His father just said he was glad to see him looking so well, and then, for the most part, acted as if he’d never been away (which was easily done – he’d been kept up to date on most matters while he was locked away).

 

His knights did the same.

 

He started to think that, just maybe, things would be alright after all, that he could just put this all behind him and slip back into his old life with a sigh of relief, but then, then-

 

Merlin wouldn’t let it go. He kept bringing it up, and Arthur kept ignoring him. So he took it one step further.

 

*

 

Skip ahead two weeks.

 

To when Merlin showed up in Arthur’s chambers unannounced, carrying a horribly familiar lidded basket, and locked the door behind him.

 

“Evening,” he said, setting the basket down on the table with great care.

 

“Merlin, tell me that’s not-”

 

The basket gurgled.

 

“Merlin, get it out of here!”

 

Merlin said nothing; just took the lid off the basket. Arthur turned away, took a few steps back, made sure he couldn’t see (he’d seen it once, just before he passed out, and had no desire to do so again).

 

“Merlin, I said-”

 

“I heard,” said Merlin. “I’m just not listening.” He reached into the basket and lifted it out.

 

Most of what he saw, before he turned his attention to the wall, was blanket, but there was a little hand, reaching up, and the top of a head (oh God).

 

“Arthur,” said Merlin. “C’mon. Look at her.” Arthur continued to stare at the wall, and shook his head. “I’m not taking her away until you do.”

 

Arthur glanced back just as Merlin adjusted the blanket, revealing more of it, and he had to turn away again.

 

“There, I looked,” he said. “Now leave me alone.”

 

“Properly, Arthur,” said Merlin. “Come over here and look at her.”

 

When Arthur didn’t move, he walked forward, stopping just beside him, and held it out.

 

“Arthur, please,” he said. “Just- look.” Arthur shook his head. “Arthur- what happened to you wasn’t her fault. She’s just a baby. Stop blaming her. She doesn’t deserve it.”

 

Arthur risked another glance. It was awake, and looked like it was staring up at him.

 

“Stop it,” he said. “Merlin, I’m warning you- get it out of here before I-”

 

“She,” Merlin said. “Arthur, she’s your daughter. You’re her father. She needs you.”

 

“She’s got you,” said Arthur. His hands had started to shake, and he squeezed them into fists.

 

“It’s not enough,” said Merlin. He moved round to stand in front of Arthur, and held it out. “Come on. Just look,” he said. Arthur fixed his eyes on the wall again. “Look- take her,” said Merlin, holding it out to him.

 

“What?!”

 

“Take her. C’mon. Hold her.”

 

“No- Merlin, no, I’m not going to-”

 

Merlin didn’t listen to his protests; he was quite adamant. It was thrust into his arms (heavier than he’d thought it'd be), and then Merlin stepped back, leaving Arthur staring from it to him in indignation.

 

“Alright,” said Merlin, a little breathless. He stepped back even further, towards the door. “Alright.” He slipped a key out of his pocket that Arthur hadn’t known he’d still carried.

 

“No, don’t you dare-” he said, but it was too late. Merlin had opened the door and stepped outside, and it was locked before Arthur could decide what to do (he was tempted to just drop the thing on the floor and run over there to stop Merlin, but- but).

 

He stared at the door. Because that was better than looking down.

 

The thing in his arms gurgled again. He turned his gaze to it, with great reluctance.

 

Blue eyes and dark hair- it reminded him rather of Merlin- he turned his head away, closing his eyes.

 

“No,” he said. “No, I’m not doing this.” Then he crossed the door to the table, and set it back down in the basket.

 

He lingered there for a moment, staring down at it.

 

And another moment.

 

And another.

 

And oh God it was staring back.

 

“Stop that,” he said to it. “Leave me alone. Why can’t you just leave me alone? You had me for nine months, can’t you just- haven’t you had enough? You’ve already taken everything.”

 

It stared at him as if it didn’t understand.

 

“I know what you’re doing,” he continued. “I do. Don’t think I don’t. I can see right through you. I know what you are.”

 

It blinked, and kept staring up at him.

 

“So just stop it,” he said. “Leave me alone. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

 

Suddenly feeling rather less indecisive, he grabbed the lid of the basket from where Merlin had left it, and slammed it back down on top of the thing. Then he turned away, walking back towards his bed.

 

Behind him, it started to cry. He’d made it cry.

 

“I mean it!” he said without turning around. “Now stop that!”

 

It kept crying. He covered his ears.

 

*

 

Skip ahead about half a minute, and the lid was off the basket again.

 

“Will you just stop?” said Arthur to the thing. Its face was creased up and red and bawling. “Someone’s going to hear you.”

 

He lifted the lid of the basket again, meaning to put it back on – because that would smother the sound a little – but paused. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

 

“Oh, for-” he reached out towards it, hesitated, then lifted it, holding it as far from himself as possible. “What is it?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

 

It- she- it just kept crying.

 

“If you’re hungry, you’re not going to get anything from me,” he said. “I’m not- I don’t- I- oh, just-” he went to set it back down in the basket, but hesitated. There was something tucked in behind the other blanket along the bottom.

 

It took some adjustment before he could reach out to get it, and he found himself holding her- it- rather closer to him than he would have liked.

 

It was a flask, with a little note from Merlin tied to it. For when she gets hungry.

 

Arthur stared at it. He’d planned this. The bastard.

 

“I’m going to kill him,” he remarked to the thing. “I mean that.”

 

He sat down on the bed with it and the flask. And he was only doing this because she - it wouldn’t stop crying if it wasn’t fed. That was all. No other reason.

 

It took some trial and error – the mouth of the flask was too big, really, and he ended up pouring milk (good God, did this come from the wet-nurse?) all over the blanket and its face and his arm the first few times he tilted it – but he got it eventually, and she-it- it finally went quiet.

 

“I’m not-” he began. “I’m really not-”

 

Merlin was right. He knew he was. They both knew. Merlin knew Arthur knew. He just hated the idea of it so much, hated thinking about those months so much, that he couldn’t-

 

He shifted back against the pillows and sighed.

 

“I can’t do this,” he said. “I’m sorry. I really can’t. It’s not your fault, but- I can’t.”

 

It- she wasn’t even paying attention to him any more. She was focused on her meal. “I really can’t. Not ever. I can’t even stand thinking about what happened. And even if I could then I couldn’t, because my father, if he knew, he’d-”

 

He broke off, closed his eyes, and sighed.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s- I don’t know, maybe you’ll understand one day. Except you won’t because you’ll never be a man who has to, has to- do what I did- so you’ll never be in this position. Count yourself lucky. It was just, it was-” he broke off and sighed again. “Never do it. Trust me. Not worth it.”

 

He sighed, staring at the wall. Then there was a cry from the thing in his arms, because his hand had drifted while he was distracted, and-

 

*

 

Skip ahead about twenty minutes, to when he’d wiped the milk off her face on the edge of her blanket, and was still talking, about whatever he could think of, so he wouldn’t have to think about what had happened (because his mind tended to go there).

 

“I should probably remind you that I’m not your mother,” he said, as she finished the last dregs of the milk. “I mean, I know- well, you know- but I’m not. If you really need a mother, then you have Merlin. Because he’s a girl really, whatever he says. And I know ordinarily your father actually being a woman at heart would be extremely traumatic for you, but you’ve got me to make up for that.” He paused as he got up to set the flask back down on the table. “Oh, what else- oh, yes. Pray you don’t get Merlin’s ears. You’d never find a husband with those ears. Trust me.”

 

He paused again when he sat down on his bed. She’d closed her eyes, seemed to be going to sleep now.

 

“Alright, fine,” he said, settling back against the pillows. “Be that way.”

 

*

 

Skip ahead to the next morning, when he was still in more or less the same position, and there was a knock at the door.

 

“It’s me,” said Merlin’s voice. “Can I come in?”

 

“The door’s locked,” said Arthur. “And you have the key. I don’t.” (He’d looked during the night, and found the keys to his own door missing. He thought Merlin had given his key back.)

 

The door opened. Merlin appeared, looking very sheepish, and rather sleepy. (Arthur suspected he hadn’t got much sleep last night either, and was glad. He deserved it.)

 

“Morning?” he said, as if it was a question. His eyes flicked to the baby, in Arthur’s arms, and then back to his face.

 

“Don’t say a word,” said Arthur. “Don’t you dare.”

 

Merlin, for once, did as he was told. He just closed and locked the door behind himself, dropped the keys back on the table, and came to sit by Arthur on the bed.

 

He climbed up to sit right by him, up against the pillows, and kissed him on the cheek before turning his attention to the baby (their daughter, Arthur thought, and couldn’t suppress a slight shudder).

 

“I’m not going to be speaking to you later,” said Arthur. “Right now I’m not sure I can be bothered with that.”

 

Merlin smiled. “Did you feed her?” he said. Arthur nodded.

 

“Are you taking her back now?” he said. Merlin shrugged.

 

“I can if you like,” he said, smiling down at her. She’d just opened her eyes, and was starting to make unhappy noises.

 

“No, then,” said Arthur.

 

“Alright,” said Merlin. “Alright.” He produced a second flask from somewhere, and held out his arms. “I’ll take her.”

 

*

 

They didn’t speak for a while.

 

*

 

Skip ahead a few minutes, to when Merlin was feeding her while Arthur watched.

 

“Does she have a name yet?”

 

“Not really,” said Merlin. “Her wet-nurse calls her Jenny, I think.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I don’t really call her anything,” said Merlin.

 

“I thought maybe I could name her after my mother,” said Arthur.

 

Merlin’s eyes widened and flicked up to meet his. “Igraine?” he said. Arthur nodded. Merlin smiled, and laughed a little, breathless and joyful. “Alright,” he said. “Alright.”

 

Arthur smiled back.

 

Then they were quiet for a little longer. Then;

 

“Don’t you worry that she’ll get your ears?” said Arthur. Merlin glanced up, frowning at him.

 

“What’s wrong with my ears?” he said, a little hurt.

 

“Nothing,” said Arthur. “They look fine on you. You’re a man. But picture them on a woman.”

 

Merlin’s frown deepened. He contemplated the idea, and then laughed. “Okay, okay,” he said. “That would be bad.”

 

He looked down at the baby, stared at her ears.

 

“They look alright now,” said Arthur. “But they might grow. Were your ears big when you were a baby?”

 

“I’ve no idea,” said Merlin.

 

“We should ask your mother,” said Arthur.

 

Merlin smiled.

 

The baby hiccupped.

 

*

 

It would be nice not to skip ahead any further.

 

*

 

Because if you skip ahead about three weeks, they decided that the wet-nurse couldn’t live in the palace forever. Gaius found her a house in the city; Arthur paid her rent for her.

 

It all seemed very nice and simple.

 

But Arthur had to say goodbye.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said to her, while she stared up at him, uncomprehending. “I am. But I can’t come and see you, because then my father would find out, and he’d-” He broke off. “Well. You know.”

 

Then he smiled as best he could, kissed her, and handed her back to Merlin.

 

He was a little relieved – he still couldn’t look at her without feeling ever so slightly sick, without his mind going to places he hated – and felt awful about that later.

 

Merlin visited her a lot. It was Merlin’s job to take money to the wet-nurse once a week.

 

He’d told her that the baby’s mother had died, and her father was a nobleman. His attempts at trying to explain why her father never came to see her tended to come out in rather a mess, that often made Arthur sound bad. He felt awful about that later.

 

*

 

After that, things were more or less normal.

 

For a while.

 

*

 

Skip ahead about six months – five and a half – to when Merlin came running into Arthur’s chambers in a panic.

 

“They’re gone!” he said, sounding like he might be on the brink of hysterics.

 

“Who’s gone?” said Arthur, who was eating his lunch.

 

“The wet-nurse,” Merlin gabbled. “And Igraine, and, and- they’re gone!”

 

Arthur froze, cup halfway to his mouth.

 

Merlin took a few deep breaths before he spoke again. “I spoke to the neighbours. They said she left two days ago and they don’t know where she went because she hardly spoke to them, ever. They said she thought she might have gone home.”

 

“You know where she came from, though,” said Arthur. “Don’t you?”

 

Merlin shook his head. “Outside the city somewhere,” he said. “I don’t know where. She’d just come here when we met her. She never said, not to me.” He was sounding more panicked by the syllable.

 

Arthur’s stomach felt like it was full of lead, like it was about to drag him down through the floor, right down into the dungeons.

 

“Calm down,” he managed. “Look, someone must know. Try Gaius.”

 

Merlin nodded.

 

*

 

Gaius didn’t know.

 

*

 

Skip ahead about half an hour. Merlin came into Arthur’s chambers, told him that Gaius didn’t know, and didn’t know of anyone who might know, then sat down in a chair and cried.

 

Arthur had never seen Merlin cry before.

 

He didn’t like it.

 

He sat down next to him and pulled him into his arms, and wanted to say it would be alright.

 

He was sure he knew why she’d done it; as far as she was concerned, the child in her care had a dead mother and a father who didn’t care enough to do more than make sure she was looked after in a dutiful kind of way.

 

He didn’t blame her.

 

They could have told her the truth – from what Merlin had said, she was hardly a gossip, would have kept the secret – but they hadn’t. He wouldn’t have allowed it. The idea of anyone knowing, was, was-

 

He whispered that it wasn’t Merlin’s fault, and secretly thought that it was his own.

 

Well, he’d wanted to put all this behind him, hadn’t he?

 

Oh God.


End file.
